Paula Spencer Read Online Free PDF Page A

Yeah.
    —When Bulgaria joins the EU the value of those apartments will go through the fuckin' roof.
    An investment. They used to talk about EastEnders and their husbands.
    The men outside the bookies are looking at her. They nod. They know her. They knew her husband. They were frightened of him. They were at the funeral. They shook her hand. Sorry for your troubles, Paula.
    They're still looking. She can't see them, but she knows. Looking at her arse. Looking at each other.
    Not bad for forty-eight.
    She's never been in the bookies.
    Someone's phone. It's ringing.
    It's her fuckin' phone.
    She drops the bag. The phone's in one of her pockets. God, it's loud. She's mortified. The men outside the bookies – where's the stupid fuckin' thing? They're so bloody small and loud, and not even a proper ring. Scotland the fuckin' Brave.
    Nicola's present, this morning.
    —Hello?
    She's done it right. Pressed the green button.
    —Hiya.
    It's Nicola.
    —How's the phone?
    —Well, it works, love, says Paula; she's sweating now. —I'm fuckin' talking to you.
    That sounds mean but Nicola laughs.
    Paula couldn't believe it earlier, when she unwrapped the box and saw what was inside.
    —Ah, Nicola. Jesus.
    —It's just plain, said Nicola. —I can swap it for one of the camera ones if you want.
    —Don't be mad, said Paula. —What would I do with one of them?
    —Take photographs, actually, said Nicola.
    The same Nicola.
    Paula was still holding the box, turning it in her hands. The lovely young one on the cover, the phone at the side of her head, laughing into it. The sea behind her, yachts, the sunset.
    She opened the box. Took out the phone.
    —D'you know how to use it?
    —I've used Leanne's, said Paula.
    —Is hers like this one?
    —This one's nicer, said Paula.
    She smiled.
    —It's gorgeous.
    She's delighted with it. She's been looking at it all morning, holding it. Practising.
    —I was just checking, says Nicola now.
    —No, says Paula. —It's grand. I love it.
    —I'm not far away, says Nicola. —Just up in Donaghmede.
    Nicola's a rep for a sports clothes company. All those trainers and T-shirts and outfits. Nicola puts them into the shops. Or a lot of them. She has a company car and all. A lovely little car.
    —Will I come down for a cup of tea? says Nicola.
    —Ah, no, says Paula. —Better not. I've to go off to work in a minute.
    She doesn't feel too guilty. Lying to Nicola with the phone that Nicola has given her.
    —Use it whenever you want, Nicola had said, earlier. —Don't worry about the bill.
    —God, Nicola, she'd said. —You're amazing.
    And Nicola had shown her how to open the phone book, how to put in the few numbers Paula knew or needed – Leanne, Carmel, Denise, the doctor, the Chinese takeaway. Paula began to get a bit angry. She wanted the phone back. Nicola was bullying her, making her go too fast.
    —Why would I want that? she said. —The number's on the menu.
    —Ah, Ma. Stop being thick.
    Nicola must have phoned Carmel and Denise earlier or the day before and told them about the mobile she was giving Paula. Because they'd both phoned her a couple of minutes after Nicola had left. She's a great kid, Nicola, the best. But Paula doesn't want her wrecking her plans.
    A car passes. Nicola will hear it. Paula can't pretend she's at home.
    —I'm at the shops, she says. —But I'm on my way home. And then I've to go.
    —Are you having a nice day anyway?
    —Ah, yeah.
    —It doesn't sound that brilliant. Shops and work.
    —Ah, Jesus, love. I'm forty-eight. I didn't want a Barbie.
    —What about Ken?
    —Ah now.
    She laughs.
    —I don't think I'd like Ken that much, she says.
    —He's gone an'anyway.
    —What?
    —Ken, says Nicola. —They've got rid of him.
    —Really, says Paula. —Why?
    —Don't know, says Nicola. —They're not making him any more. I think.
    Nicola has two little girls.
    —That's strange, says Paula. —I'd better get going, love.
    —Okay. Talk to you.
    —Seeyeh, love;